


Got a thing for Antiques, huh?

by sv962



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Dry Humping, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Nick Valentine is insecure about his body, Outdoor Sex, POV Second Person, Praise Kink, Smut, Sole Survivor sided with the Railroad, Spoilers, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv962/pseuds/sv962
Summary: “Garter-belts, tie, handcuffs”, Nick raises his brows and you’re awfully aware that the list it’s just gonna get longer, “Someone really had ulterior motives when he came to my rescue. Anything you want to confessdetective Valentine, wise guy?”.You jolt. Oh, fuck.He better not be pulling the roleplay card.“Don’t give me that look! I really needed a detective!”Nick lets the handcuffs hanging from his index finger.“Obviously”, he sarcastically answers.
Relationships: Male Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	Got a thing for Antiques, huh?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work contains **major plot spoilers** so if you haven't completed the game or the Automatron/Far Harbor DLCs, read at your own risk.

## Got a thing for Antiques, huh?

You didn’t know when your relationship started shifting.

You traveled, _or as he’d say_ , hit the road with him just because nobody has knocked on his agency’s door for a long time and you were pretty tired yourself of wandering the Commonwealth alone. Sure, Codsworth was a great companion and his witty humor and squeaky voice, along with his British accent were always welcomed, but some nights, lying down in your sleeping bag, at the dim light of a fireplace, made you ache with loneliness.

You missed Nick.

You missed that detective shrouded in a worn trench-coat that was now sitting on the grass, holding a cigarette between his plastic lips, the scent of tar and smoke permeating the air, the tinkering of his screwdriver as he adjusts the loose screws of his right hand, the gentle crackling of the fire and the glowing light of his golden eyes, his deep sighs and the squeaking of his arms’ joints in desperate need of oiling.

Since you woke up from cryogenic sleep, too many things had changed.

You already spent a year in your new life and nothing of these 365 days had been easy.

The world you once knew collapsed and with it vanished all your certainties.

Your wife was dead and that son you once thought infant and then believed child, wasn’t only a man in his sixties, head of an organization that took hundreds of lives, but was now dead of cancer, resenting you from the deepest of his heart.

You, his father, who’d barren your heart and soul to find him.

All the hard times you went through, just to end up with a son that wasn’t yours, despite having his same aspect and being of the same genetic material as _your Shaun_ , but that called you _dad_ and unconditionally loved you.

You loved him back. He was a good kid, despite he would have remained forever so, just like a Pinocchio eternally marionette.

The Commonwealth didn’t make you forget about Nora and the world you left behind two-hundred-ten years before. Acceptation just slowly sank in and some days surviving was so though that all you could think about before falling asleep was praying to whoever was listening up there that you’d still wake up at dawn without a feral ghoul chewing on your arm or a Deathclaw feasting on your legs.

Not the best place to live in, but the Railroad, the Minutemen and the good people you met in the past year, the sweet Billy and his ghoul-family, the Nakanos and all those you helped just made the whole place more tolerable.

The purified water from your settlements was a blessing for your body, so sated by radiation that someday it looked about to fall apart like a decaying carcass. The sweet flavor of crops, gourds, melons and tatos rads-free was finally a deserved alternative to the canned pre-war food you often looted from the abandoned buildings you explored, expired on the rusted shelves of old Vaults or laboratories.

You didn’t want to forget about Nora; you would have never forgiven yourself.

But your son, the son you saw coming to this world and leaving it in the span of two years was now cinder, gone with the Institute in a fog of radioactive dust, ashes to the wind. You couldn’t bring the past back. That’s why you had decided to move on and give Nora a proper burial.

That’s why you dug a grave behind your old house at Sanctuary Hills and finally gave her rest, lying six-feet under, with her hands intertwined over her chest, and the most beautiful dress you could find from your old wardrobe, her grave honored by a decorated ceramic vase and blossoming hubflowers.

Nobody knew her or would have come to pay her respects, but you couldn’t stand the thought of her body rotting in Vault 111. Your beloved spouse, whom’s death _Father_ considered a _collateral damage_.

Sometimes you thought about that too.

There were days you couldn’t fall asleep without the rambling of Codsworth in the background, going on about life before the nuclear fallout. You cared about him, he was a worthy friend, but you didn’t want to hear any of that. No use crying over the spilled milk.

Right now, your present was this–

Your home at the Red Rocket Truck Shop settlement, the daily bizarre requests coming from Shaun, that still managed to build stunning and breath-taking guns or mods out of an old telephone or a broken microscope, his comments and impressions about Nick, like when he told you that when he’ll grow he wants to be a detective like him, and the ever-changing Deacon, that wandered in and out the house in different disguises save for the sunglasses.

Oh, boy. How could he be the Railroad’s _best agent_.

Of course, in the past year, you were so busy blowing up the Institute, helping Far Harbor, running around Nuka-World and beating up raiders, that you didn’t stop once to think about how much Nick became important to you.

You were sure tricked into believing he was obviously a pleasant company. He was quite tolerant, he reprimanded you when needed and didn’t complain as often as Codsworth if you lifted your elbow and emptied a whole bottle of bourbon in front of the fire after a particularly harsh day.

Nick often conceded you things your companions didn’t tolerate. And gave you shit the few times you deserved it.

Helping him solve his cases was great, though they didn’t really help to ease the burden on his shoulders. Just as you, he went through a lot. Good thing you had each other.

Now camping in the middle of nowhere, you were more than used to make the best out of your days just by helping other people out, those who, just like you used to be, were in need of a hand. That’s what you always did since you realized the extent of the nuclear aftermath, right? Deciding you were done with overthinking stuff, holding yourself back and endlessly repeating in front of the mirror that _war never changes_.

That’s why you were now polishing your gun’s barrel, avoiding thinking about what had by now became habit. Dive in an alley or a building, kill a bunch of raiders, shot in the face those rotten ghouls ignoring the fact that they were once people like you, clean a settlement and report to Preston or those who asked for your help.

How much blood did your hands shed?

Humans, super mutants, animals, third-generation Synths.

Christ. Your son.

You shot him in the face, in his death bed.

You didn’t have the guts to tell Nick.

You didn’t tell him that as you worked undercover on behalf of the Railroad, you had to bring synths back to the Institute, recall their serial codes and erase their memories and identities, killing your own brothers in arms, betraying Patriot, and even kidnapped a scientist just to watch him die under those same walls.

All of that, for the revolution.

People would have never seen the blood your hands had spilled.

You step closer to the fire, tending your hands towards the warmth, solace from the cold October night. The sky is clean and the firmament looks the same it did centuries before. Last time you sat with someone under a starry sky, it was with Nora.

Now, next to you is sitting Nick.

And his screwdriver’s tinkering is so familiar that it feels soothing and almost reassuring.

“We’re quite tonight, huh? What are you reminiscing, wise guy?”, he teases you, but you know him enough to detect the genuine concern in his words. His yellow irises glow in the dark and you never thought the Commonwealth would change your beauty standards _this_ much.

When did you realize that those apparently crisp and rough lips were as desirable as your once soft and pink spouse’s lips?, when did you first decide to pay attention to the cuts and scars that marked his face, grim reminder of his escape from the Institute and the century of wandering, the marks on his worn and ragged skin, pale and grayish, and start considering them beautiful and fascinating?

When did that skin that showed his chassis and the wires than ran deep in his body stop giving you creeps and nightmares and made you curious instead, leaving you wondering of what he would have felt, if he’d allow you to touch him?

You’re crouching in front of the fire, holding your knees and munching on what remains of a roasted mirelurk, doing your best to take your mind off the fact of how used you actually are to that _weird_ food, chewing that leg as you once did with tasty crabs. Drinking a gulp of water, you don’t immediately realize that the space on your sleeping bag just got narrower, and Nick is now sitting next to you.

“Hey, you okay there?”.

He’s preoccupied, you can tell. But you honestly don’t know anymore _how_ you feel.

“I don’t know”

You savor the aftertaste of your food. It tastes like crab. And something else.

You don’t know what these creatures actually eat and for all that you know, they could even eat humans on a daily basis.

“It’s been a year since I woke up and lots of stuff happened. Some days I have it easy, but there are days I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life anymore and I’d just hope I could bury myself under the blankets and wake up from this awful nightmare”.

Nick frowns.

He’s just finished his second cigarette and he’s already rummaging in his pockets to take the third one. You never reprimanded him over his habit, though he smokes like a damn chimney. Well, it’s not like he’s ever gonna die by lung cancer.

You’re so rapt by the way his mechanic hand slowly brings the carton to his mouth that you almost lick your lips in a reflex when you see him wetting his own. Maybe you should retract your previous statement: his lips could be soft as well.

His compassion towards you doesn’t really help with your current crush on him.

Not when his still intact hand brushes and caresses your shoulder blades, encouraging patting your back, not when your clothes are impregnated with his cigarette and tar scent, and when your heart skips a beat each time you catch a glimpse of his worn grey fedora.

“Don’t get me wrong, Nick”, you try your best to stay on track.

He gets weirded out by your long pauses. For a man that speaks as much as him, you can tell he gets anxious about silences. You just need to fiddle with something to forget about the hand on your back, your skin burning with touch-starvation.

“This doesn’t mean I want to erase all that’s happened. I think the Institute’s fall was something that was to be done, sooner or later, though we didn’t do it without paying a price. And trust me, I’m grateful for turning to you in my time of need. I’m... sorry that things turned out the way they did with my son, but I still prefer knowing the truth instead of living a lie”.

His hand stills on your shoulder and you can feel your words sinking in the silence stretching between you two.

Nick is a man of action, yet now he looks uncertain, as if he doesn’t really know how to react. His fingers still linger over your back, wondering if they shall leave you alone or comfort your sorrows.

You’d prefer the latter.

But you’re too coward and terrorized by the idea of destroying that precious friendship to just take the matter in hand. You’re fearless when it comes to face a hoard of super mutants in your blue and yellow Vault 111 jumpsuit and your 10mm –you already did that once and you left the battle limped, carried by the same synth detective to the Railroad HQ and getting patched up by doctor Carrington with Deacon rambling in background about your last _prowess_.

You found lovable the fact that your leg was hurting so much back then that you almost forgot about Nick carrying you way back to the headquarters. According to him, you passed out from the pain.

“Damn, hang in there, I– uhh”, you still remember his nervous fiddling with his pockets to search for a stimpak, the spit curses at the realization that you used the last one on him and the sense of guilt that haunted him when you woke up from anesthesia. No matter how hard you tried to comfort him, he took days to be persuaded into still following you around.

“You deserve more than a partner who can’t even cure you in your time of need”, he told you once. You never made him a fault for that. You’d use your last stimpak on him thousands of times, you’d die for him; you already told Desdemona when you joined the Railroad and you wouldn’t take that back in a hundred years.

You loved him, but... well...

You weren’t really good at feelings.

A false step could have easily blown your balance and you weren’t ready to give in to your heart’s requests just to lose the only person you wanted close right now in the entirety of the Commonwealth.

Nick’s hand is still holding your shoulder and you’re glad to him for not leaving you, granting you space and silence but instead still sitting next to you, not intended on leaving. Maybe he was waiting for you to open up, but there was nothing else worth adding.

“Maybe our stories are not that different”, he’s given up on lighting that third cigarette and now his yellow eyes, glowing as the campfire’s flames, are searching for yours. You love that face, even if marked by the age, by the suffering and the years of wandering without getting a proper maintenance. You adore his small and narrow brows, the way they look almost drawn on his chassis.

You’re so caught up in staring him that you don’t even realize the distance between your shadows just shortened and as he urges you closer with a nudge, they finally merge. His clothes’ fabric is rough and his skin cold, yet that’s the most intimate contact you ever had and he’s the one to initiate it.

You wouldn’t contradict him.

You could indulge him. That much, you could do.

“We’re two persons out of our time and we both managed to find someone that we once lost. I’m not content either with the turn the situation took with DiMa. It’s not easy finding out about a long-lost brother you didn’t even remember having and discovering that he..”.

“Sorry, Nick. I didn’t want to remind you”

It’s still a fresh wound to him and it’s easier to hold his hand now that you want him to feel all your love and support. You don’t expect his hands to reciprocate your hold, that his pale fingers gently hold your wrist and his thumb caresses your veins. Sometimes you wonder if he ever wishes to be human.

The fire is slowly dying out, but Nick’s hand on your shoulder is so soft that you have no intention of spoiling the moment by standing up and throw more branches and litter to fan the flames. A part of you really wants to burn Patriot’s letter, picking Desdemona’s advice, but you don’t feel like turning your back on that part of your life yet.

“I lost my brother, just as you lost your son”, Nick decides on concluding his reasoning.

His head rests on your shoulder and it’s weird the feeling of his skin on you and the way the chassis is broken and shows the hollow space filled by circuits and the internal metal frame.

“You sure you aren’t resented because I told him to make his case to the people of Far Harbor?”

“He was a murderer. I’m pained to say that, but there was nothing we could do. You can’t call a murder something else, nor justify it. You told him to do the right thing and your vouching so that people trialed him without bringing Acadia down with him was...”.

He sighs.

“You did right, okay?”, he stammers, and his head sinks even more on your shoulder.

You have the impression he’s getting crushed under the guilt and the pressure of the memories, and you hold him close, reciprocating the support he gave you before.

“If we didn’t stop him, he would have killed the High Confessor too and replaced him with a synth. To do what then?, remove those memories to clean the guilt and do that thing over and over again as problems just knocked at his door?”.

He’s right.

Nick was a cop. He had no excuse for homicides.

You could never tell him you shot your son. God, you had to take that secret to the grave. DiMa was so lucky he could remove and store away his memories.

You rest your head on his. He still wears the fedora.

You’re surprised when you feel his head raise from your shoulder and see him slip out of his trench coat to wrap it around your body, covering your blue shoulders, the adherent Vault jumpsuit now used as a pajama.

He smiles but you fail to understand why, since the conversation didn’t really prompt happy topics and your eyes are now currently drawn to his exposed neck, the shirt’s open collar, the loosened black tie and the white skin showing underneath. His grin is blunt and relaxed, but there’s a hint of bashfulness in his behavior.

You catch up on his shyness just when you feel a shiver shake your body.

The adherent suit probably showed your nipples. And as you realize that, you get an eyeful of his giggling.

“Keep it. I can’t feel the cold”.

“You keep taking care of me and I’m gonna consider traveling with you till my last day on Earth”

Nick smiles back: “Well, that’s the plan. Don’t forget you’re my knight-in-shining-armor. Who in their sound mind refuses to marry the princess after rescuing her?”.

“To be fair, that Power Armor wasn’t that shiny”, you joke, hoping that the dim light of the fire hides your blushing. If he’s flirting, he’s so _goddamn_ good at it, “Also, I’d like to remind you, _you_ appointed me your knight and lured me in by telling me you had a detective agency with a neon heart outside”.

He raises his brows and you can’t tell if he’s reprimanding you for being the hundredth person on his list to tell him that those signs are an eyesore or if he’s just going over your conversation to deduct _God knows what_.

“Oh”, he finally adds and he’s grinning from ear to ear, “So I lured you in, huh?”.

“Huuuh”.

You get an eyeful of him.

He’s wearing fucking braces over his shirt and he has the guts to say he didn’t lure you in. Like _hell_ he didn’t. You don’t care about what other people say. GoodNeighbor is probably crawling with people who slept with Hancock. Nobody was in the position to tell you that damn man, synth– _person_ wasn’t attractive as well.

Clenching his trench coat around your body, you consider the fact that maybe it wouldn’t have been a bad idea setting up a tent instead of the old sleeping bags. It’s not like you can afford weather forecast in this land forgotten by God. And TinkerTom was so busy with setting up MILA that he wouldn’t consider predicting the weather without before getting evidence on his current project.

He’s still expecting for an answer.

“Well, I mean”, you gesture at his body, and you can tell by the way his eyes light up, that if he could blush, he would have by now, “You don’t think highly of yourself most of the times but I can assure you that you’re intriguing and that people would absolutely love to be seduced by you”.

You’re digging your own grave.

But, well, you may as well try since he looks fluttered by your admission.

You open your arms – _you’re just offering a fraternal, bro hug, you tell yourself_ , and even if your gesture catches him off guard, you’re glad that now he’s smiling and reciprocating your embrace, bringing his long arms around your body, planting his palms on your shoulder blades and burying his nose in your collarbone.

Nick doesn’t breath, he isn’t warm, his body isn’t _exactly_ human, yet he has more humanity of most people out there.

You flinch against his body, letting yourself be held as the realization of _how much you love_ this man silently dawns on you.

Wishing this moment could last forever, you can feel your heart exploding in the chest and your hands sweating, petrified and desperate for him. His trench coat fits your frame – _you’re the same height, after all,_ and the smell of cinder and cigarette is intoxicating, shrouds you in a coat and wraps your body in Nick’s scent.

If there’s something your companion wants to tell you, you have the feeling he’s delaying it and his words die in your shoulders in a sigh, as the fire slowly goes out.

“Thanks for the compliment”, he whispers as he holds you tightly, “As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be there. You’re the best thing ever happened to me, everything a synth could have ever asked for. You, huh”. Nick holds on your jumpsuit tighter, and you can tell he’s being anxious, “You’re really making a very happy bot out of me”.

Snuggling close to him, you slid your fingers under his braces.

“You don’t want to see what’s under these clothes”, he’s still uncertain, and it’s one of the few times you actually feel him jolt and be wary. He’s way too self-conscious about his aspect, and yet all you want to do is teach him to love himself, love him for the beautiful person he is and you see in him.

You bashfully reach to cup his face in your palms.

It’s the first time you ever touched his skin in a year afar from a death-call situation. It’s rough in certain areas but smooth in others. It probably depends on the state of the plastic. It doesn’t surprise you that his body doesn’t respond the same way a human would to your touch.

To you, it’s enough that Nick allows you to touch him and spares deprecating comments about himself.

Slowly unbuttoning your blue and yellow jumpsuit, you show him your chest and prompt his metal hand closer to your sternum. You can feel your heart constricting under his touch, but that’s not why you wanted him to feel you.

“We all have our scars”, you actually want him to focus on your red chest, burned and scarred by the radiations.

Nick raises his brows and his ironed touch is suddenly more delicate than a flower’s, fearing to hurt you. Those slender and thin fingers for some reason remind you of Nora’s cured and polished nails.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Nick. These burns... I got them when we traversed the Glowing Sea. Apparently the armor didn’t shield me enough from the radiation and there was little the Rad-X pills and Rad-away injections could do at that point. I’m lucky I’m still in one piece after that”.

“I’m sorry”

“No, you don’t have to, Nick”, you hold his hand and for a moment, you wish he could feel your fastened heartbeat, “Virgil revealed himself to be a useful asset. And if we never met, I would have never found Shaun and blown up the Institute. And he would have never cured himself. I put myself on the line, and I’d do that again. Isn’t what we always said? If we’re good to people, they’ll be good back. And we can’t rebuild this place and make it better, if we don’t help each other”.

Nick smiles and his laugh lines, his marked nasolabial folds, are something you never tire of seeing. Each time his mouth’s corners curl, his eyes light up.

“You know, this may sound weird now”, he clutches the hems of the trench covering your shoulders and prompts you to get closer to him, closing the distance between the two of you. The fire is almost gone but as long as you have his glowing eyes, you’re fine. “The first time I met you, I thought you must have been crazy. Imagine being on my side: sitting in a Vault all tied up, minutes away from being shot in the face, and seeing someone coming to my rescue. Damn, for a minute I thought I should be really paying the chapel a visit. Well, then of course you were here for your son but, y’ know. I thought that once you found Kellogg and you were done with his memories, you’d leave me behind. Never expected you wanted me to tag along. You... certainly had better companions than me”.

He shrugs his shoulders and his plastic fingers now rest on your chin.

“I’ve often told you that traveling alone just doesn’t hold the same allure it used to. All the memories I have from the, huh, original Valentine, are just flashes of daily life moments. Walking in the park next to his fianceé, visiting the observatory, holding hands, making out at the drive-in with a movie playing in background. It’s weird, when I think about it. It’s like watching a movie you didn’t pay the ticket for. Or, well, you didn’t even want to watch”.

Nick nervously smiles as his hands now trace your irradiated red skin.

“Sometimes, I see memories of intimate moments if... if you get what I mean. But, well, I hardly emphasize. Anatomic accuracy wasn’t really on the Institute’s top list when they built me”.

You know that tone. He really is convinced you’re gonna back-off and ditch him for that.

_Amateur_.

Like hell you were.

With your thumbs, you gently trace his eyebrows and massage his temples.

Nick stares at you in a glimpse of surprise but doesn’t speak as he succumbs to your ministrations. He accepts your love and care and doesn’t question for now the fact that you don’t want him to justify for just being _himself_.

“I don’t care”, you tell him because you know he needs to be told this, _he has to hear it,_ “If I cared about sex, I would probably already hooked up with a different partner. You well know the number of advances I’ve turned down, the flirts I’ve ignored coming from Curie, Hancock or Magnolia. Preston yesterday tried to hit on me as he was marking a settlement on my map”.

As you hold him close, you feel bold enough to kiss his neck, hoping that the gesture is enough to prove him that you don’t care about how many wires and iron he’s made of, he remains the Nick Valentine you’ve fallen in love with.

“Why would I care about what’s between your legs? If there’s nothing at all, I mean”, you run your hands over his shirt and smile as the buttons slide from their holes, revealing the white chest. His torso is marked by yellowed welds, and even though he cannot properly feel your touch, he seems content with you brushing his skin.

At least you think, considering his humming.

“I don’t know. Sorry if I made wrong assumptions”, he nervously laughs it off now that you take off his tie. It’s ruined and aged as his fedora, but you figure it’d be hard to find a brand new one, “It’s just that... look at me. I’m an old bot with an implanted personality and the last time I got laid, it was more than two centuries ago. There’s little to desire or to do with a body as useful as a Ken doll on 1:1 scale”.

“Could I please be the judge of that, Nick?”, you rest your forehead against his and you’re glad that his yellow eyes bear this much interest for you. You slowly lift his chin and this time you’re less afraid as you feel his hands, _plastic and metal_ , gently, delicately hold your cheeks and guide you towards his lips.

You’re rapt by the way his throat hums with satisfaction and happiness.

As you mouth his lips, you aren’t surprised by the fact that he tastes nothing aside from the _Gray Tortoise_ branded cigarettes he smokes – _you’ve been traveling together for a year, of course you’d recognize that scent everywhere._

Nick surely was one hell of an _avid_ kisser. He looked about to devour your lips, searching and reaching for your tongue with each clash of lips, intertwining your tongues in repeated dances and letting them go just to meet once again, with each push in your mouth.

You melt between his arms, in his strong hold and heated kisses.

Oh, God. _He loves you back._

You lay bare your neck for him and can’t hold back a moan as his nose brushes your skin.

He smiles, with the face of someone who expected as much.

“Y’ know. You forget _way too often_ that I’m a detective”, his kisses leave you completely at his mercy and now you can’t even fathom how your body managed to survive an entire year devoid of any sort of human contacts, be it hugs or hand-shakes, tending, yearning for that man without never reaching him. “Just because I lie down, doesn’t mean I can sleep. I heard you more than once _chocking the chicken_. You probably thought I was deep in diagnostics or something though”.

You barely hold back a curse.

Well, you really hoped he never heard you, and honestly did your best to muff your noises by tuning the radio to Diamond City station. The songs usually lasted enough for you to slide a hand in your pants and take care of your needs unnoticed. When you’re daily risking your life, you don’t need hours to de-stress.

Usually, the guilt in making Nick object of your fantasies hit you like a train after riding your orgasm.

But, again, when you jerked off to him, you never thought of _explicit sex_. You kind of expected he wasn’t equipped for that. Usually, all it took to do the trick was imaging those lips on yours, just like now, devouring your tongue as his hands trace your chest and pectorals.

You don’t expect the knee that now nudges your groin, brushing your bulge.

“W-whoa, Nick”, he lays you on the sleeping bag and his frame now hovers over your body like a spider slowly descending on his web. You can feel his fingers brush your hips and you feel like you could die as he touches and gently strokes your erection.

By the expression on his face, he looks extremely pleased with himself and your reaction.

“I’ve always thought I was undesirable”, he confesses as he kisses your ear, and his whisper snatches a moan out of you, “People always treated me with diffidence, aside from children and Diamond City. The Brotherhood of Steel calls me a _thing_ , an abomination. The Institute his property. Nobody ever wanted to befriend this synth aside from out of curiosity, just to laugh or witness this... freak who could barely pass for a sick ghoul”.

His metallic fingers run across your shaft with feather touch and he smiles as he feels your erection throb against the elastic fabric of your pants and the half-opened vault jumpsuit. His touch is light and delicate, yet you feel light you could be crushed by the pressure and the raw desire for his languid caresses.

“Yet, in this weird world, I found a Sleeping Beauty frozen in time for 210 years, that finds me exciting and alluring to the point of reacting... _like this_ ”.

He looks embarrassed as well and despite he can’t physically blush, you can fell he’s flattered by his voice tone.

You stand on your elbows as you feel his mouth clash against yours again, ignoring why that tongue knows exactly how to move, hitting and titillating your palate, stroking your tongue with each kiss and letting you breathless and gasping for air.

Of course your imaginary never went _this_ far yet you aren’t deluded by the fact that Nick is this skilled and is confident and trusting you enough to let your hands wander on his body, unbuttoning his shirt a little more and now tugging it out of his brown pants.

“Doll, I’m not _that_ beautiful”, Nick tries to hold your hand back but you give him a look of sufficiency.

“Can you just trust me, Nick?”, raising your brows, you contemplate the black sclera of his eyes, “Please. Let me see you”.

His irises flicker as they analyze you. You often wonder how he perceives reality. Yet he doesn’t look convinced on letting you have your way, so you have none other choice than reaching for your formal hat and showing off your charismatic skills.

For some reason, that hat always makes people spill the tea.

He looks persuaded too now, though he doesn’t spare you a sigh and a roll of eyes.

“Ugh, fine. Is there any machine you can’t charm?”.

You pull a face and observe him slowly undressing, taking off his pants fighting the uneasiness. You never stop smiling at him and caressing his synthetic skin as the fabric slides on the barren grass. He stalls, uncertain if he should or not remove the shoes, but you can’t refrain from stroking his calves, staring agape at his knee-socks.

“Sock garters?”, you ask incredulous.

“W-What? It’s part of the detective aesthetic”, he sounds bashful, “You never heard me complaining when you wear that laundered green dress to convince a bunch of raiders to free a group of prisoners or hostages without blood shreds”.

“No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t mocking you!”, you blush, ‘cause, _fuck_!, you really have to spill the beans now!, “Listen, I just find them sexy!”.

You are now internally praying all the deities venerated in Diamond’s City All Chapel that Nick doesn’t suspect you have a sort of _kink_.

(Like hell he won’t. He’s a freaking synth detective. Of course he already suspected as much).

His lips curve into a grin, stressing his laugh lines.

_Quod erat demonstrandum_.

“Well, then you certainly won’t mind if I keep on wearing them, right?”.

You gulp. You don’t curse _that_ often, but this looks like one of those moments. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears and you’re not that surprised by the blood rushing to your groin, not when your favorite synth’s hands are stroking your erection.

“N-Nick”, you bite your lower lip, jerking under his touch.

The way he looks at you is enough to pin you against the sleeping bag and you certainly don’t expect the way he now sits on you, legs spread on your hips and hands planted on your abs.

Reaching for his jaw, you guide him in another kiss. You spent way too many sleepless nights alone to bear another second afar. Pulling the hems of his shirt, you can’t help but embrace his torso and drink in his compliments, his hums, his whispers and sighs as he praises you.

“So good, sweet thing”

God, you’re so lucky to be in the middle of nowhere.

The irony of the situation is not lost on you.

What face would have made _Shaun_ if he had known that his father, besides being the Railroad’s number one agent, was also a _synth-fucker._ And not of a regular third-generation synth, but of a one-century old prototype.

Well, a part of you thinks he wouldn’t have cared. You were an experiment to him, after all.

Nick sits on you and his plastic hand keeps jerking you off, maintaining direct eye contact. He looks at you as if you were his whole world. All you’d love to do now is reciprocate the pleasure you’re experiencing, ignoring the fact that each time he calls you “ _sweet thing_ ” or other pet-names your heart becomes arrhythmic and you throb in his palms.

“Ngh, Nick, isn’t there anything I can do for you?”, you hold his hand, trying to slow him down, “I want you to feel good too”.

You want to take it slow.

It’s been ages since you were last intimate with someone and, touch-starved as you are, it’d really take little to make you cum. And you don’t want this to be a quickie, something haste and slapdash, you want this to be special for him too, even though you’re not laying on a soft mattress in a shack or didn’t exactly have candlelight dinner – _not that he’d need to eat_.

Nick looks touched by your concern.

His eye corners curl with his smile and you feel his lips on yours. As he stands on you, sitting on your groin, you can’t help but slide the fingers on his firm calves, caressing and palpating his legs and the soft woolen fabric of the socks. Those garters really look hot on him and you know that his knowing gaze is well deserved as you make the elastic snap against his skin.

You cup his ass and trace his body.

Now holding his hands, you kiss his fingertips, both the plastic and the metallic ones, surprised by the fact that they both seem to curve and submit to your loving kisses. Though he often told you he can’t get chills nor any kind of other sensation, on your lap he looks like the happiest synth in this world, sparkling joy as his irises follow the trail of your pecks, now covering every inch of his hands.

“Well, I don’t want to impose or anything”, his ironed fingers trace the hairs on your chest, carefully brushing the red burns, “And I don’t want to give you the creeps. Y’ know, even the human psyche knows some boundaries and we wouldn’t want to hit the rock-bottom of the uncanny valley”.

Of course he’d be concerned and try his best to play it off as a joke, but you want to reassure him no less.

“Seriously, Nick?”, you want to make him feel loved, _desired_ , and you hold his non-human hand. Your fingers now running on his neck trace the spaces where the skin cracks and reveals the internal frame and wires, carefully avoiding touching them just to prevent being electrocuted – _you still know jack shit about synths_. “Come on, we found a kid in a fridge and brought him back to his ghoul family, I dressed up as a vigilante and even shot people in a costume from my age, and we traveled the whole Commonwealth just to bring a Deathclaw egg back to its nest. We had our fair share of weirdness”.

He looks convinced. You know your point stands.

Nick sighs: “Well, I guess you’re right”.

He looks around and points at the military bag that contained the rolled sleeping bags.

“You still have that makeshift battery?”, he tentatively asks, adjusting the fedora on his head out of nervousness. You scrunch your nose in disbelief but he cuts you off before you could ask him what does it have to do with _this_ , “Don’t give me that face, wise guy. You’re always dragging around junk and trinkets. It’s not that weird of a question, given the fact that last time I checked, you had an old telephone stored in there”.

“You never know when they may come in handy! Shaun is always making those bizarre requests”, you give him a peck on his neck and you brush his welds, yellowed by the aging. You wonder if Nick would be fine with a little maintenance, if he’d allow you to restore his original skin color or turn his chassis as white as it probably used to be, letting you take care of him instead of turning to mechanists or doing all on his own.

You built a body for Jezebel, maybe you can still do something for this loving synth, as long as he’ll allow you to. Damn, for all that you know, you could also ask the Mechanist. Who, better than Isabel.

You cover his chest with kisses, brushing and nuzzling your hair against his neck.

“I love you so much, Nick”

You suck at feelings and it’s been so long since you last said those _magic_ words. Yet your heart bursts with joy and happiness when you’re next to him and life in the Commonwealth is a little more appealing since you met him.

Reaching for the bag, you bring it closer and rummage through it. You can’t help but smile as his face drops at the amount of junk you actually pick and drag around each time you hit the road.

On the barren grass, you’re piling sticks of wonderglue, golden and silver flip lighters, old and broken pocket watches, some tin cans and even three military-grade circuit boards you looted from exploded turrets.

Of course he doesn’t bat an eyelash when you take out the makeshift battery he asked you. It’s rusted but you bet 200 caps it’s still functional.

“I’ll tell you, your pockets are one carry-all bag. Just like Mary Poppins’”

“Well, duh, I’m not almost getting a degree in armoring if I’m not getting to deep-pocket all my gear”

He kisses the tip of your nose: “Wise-ass”.

You’re fond of that nickname, maybe because he calls you that each time he wants to put you in place, each time you get jerky and snap when people get obnoxious and you’re just having a bad day.

You’re about to put the junk back in the bag but you catch him snatching two jumper cables from the pile of trinkets, and you can’t help but keep a look of confusion and curiosity on your face. Mostly, is because you don’t remember picking them up in first place. You have the vague suspect he smuggled them when you weren’t paying attention, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.

“So, you’re really 100% sure you won’t freak out”, he asks you as he arranges and untangles the cables and it’s easy for you to forget that you’re still partially naked, his trench-coat is resting on your shoulders, your boner is pressing against his synthetic skin and you’re under him, getting a lapful of his ass as he unravels the cables like he absolutely knows what he’s doing.

You stroke his back, now grinning: “Come on, we painted Diamond City’s wall!”.

“Hey, that was the most normal thing we ever did”

“When you have to constantly hide from Preston and his habit of marking my damn map with settlements in need of help, you kind of lose the concept of _normality_. Because of him, my map looks like a damn game of tic-tac-toe”

Garvey is good people. But, well, he’s not the kind of person you’d like to hear from when you wake up from surgery.

Because you did indeed wake up from surgery once to him holding your map and saying: “I’ve had word from a settlement asking for help. I’ll mark it on your map. Take care, General. And when you can walk again, go find out what they need. It’s probably just raiders”.

The audacity of sending you in the field for _fucking raiders_. Those farmers you once helped had twenty turrets! What did they even need you for?!

“What do I have to do with them?”, you bury that memory in the back of your mind. God forbids you from thinking about _that_ man right now.

You hold the clamps as Nick connects the jumper cables to the battery electrodes and sets the voltage. Somehow, you’re finally starting to connect the dots.

“Oh”.

Nick raises his brows and, damn, his face is bursting with smug.

“That's one way to get the coolant pumping”, he snickers in a wink.

“Whoa, Nick. Electrostimulation?”, he already knows where to clip the pliers. He’s been maintaining himself for a century, it’s really no wonder he knows his way around his own body.

Nick offers you his right arm with the exposed frame and broken chassis and rolls his sleeve up to his elbow to show the few wires underneath the skin.

“A little electricity can do the trick for me. It’s not the same feeling from Nick’s memories,. Say what you want, but I’m no third-gen synth and I’m all wires and screws spare a few blood cells. I can’t really experience what you’d call an orgasm. But, hey, a little electricity still feels good once in a while. I remember once using a fusion core”.

You grin: “How did it go?”.

“Blacked out. I woke up a week after with a circuit-board totally fried. Luckily for me Mel knows his way around robots and stuff, so he fixed me up without asking many questions. Too bad he didn’t seem to buy the Tesla-arc story”.

Well, Nick isn’t a good liar after all.

You can’t help but sweat bullets at the mention of Mel, and you still can’t tell if it’s because of his shameless flirting with you as you dug your way to Diamond’s City strongroom or because you once almost blurted in his face that you had a _thing_ for robots too.

You focus on Nick.

“Now that you mentioned the Tesla-arcs, I’ve always thought you were way _too_ reckless around them”

“And now you know why”, he hooks the clamps on his wires and clenches his metal fist, “Well. I’m all set, doll. Freaked out yet?”.

You smile as you clash your lips with his.

He finally completely undresses you and the vault jumpsuit now lies on the ground next to the trench coat, his shoes and trousers.

The firmament is shiny and terse and the fire has now died. You wouldn’t be able to tell this scenery apart from the many nights before the war and the nuclear fallout.

Nick now hovers over you, reverently and sloppily kisses your neck and collarbones and you hold your breath under his ministrations, the silent knowledge that _he wants you_ , he loves you as much as you do.

Those soft lips are now tracing your abs, soothing your scars and the still-fresh wounds the unforgiving Commonwealth gave you.

His tongue licks the healed cut a trapper inflicted you when you almost killed him for cannibalizing a synth from Acadia. That damn wound had bled for days and was Nick himself the one to suture it and patch you up in absence of a doctor. It was also the only time he spared you any comments or remarks on the use of jet you did to overcome the pain of the needle piercing your skin and closing the open and throbbing tissue.

Good thing he was good at sewing stuff: the patchwork on his trench coat was enough of a proof of his skills.

He mouths your chest and you hold back a wail as he kisses a nipple.

“N-Nick”, you hate to admit that your cock is awfully interested in the exchange.

You don’t want this to be one-sided, you really wish you could cherish and take care of him as much as he’s doing right now with you. It almost feels unfair, being on the receiving line, knowing that you can’t really do anything for him, and your mouth stills agape as his tongue dances and teases your nipple, his teeth gently bite its tip and he sucks at the now hardened bud.

It feels weird, not feeling his breath on your skin, but the way he’s slowly descending and embracing your hips is mesmerizing.

He’s beautiful, pale and ashy as the moon, yet his eyes shine like the midday’s sun. Nick smiles over your stomach and his hands now raise your legs, lips kissing your crotch, teasing your erogenous spots as he licks a stripe of saliva-like liquid over your shaft.

Your chest rises in a sigh and you wonder what face you’d pulled the year before, if you had known this was what the future had in store for you, that the person you had just rescued from Vault 114 would have towered between your spread legs the year after, tongue and hands at work to give you the best time in your life.

Resting your fingers over his fedora, you hold him in place, scratching the rough and worn cloth, enjoying the wonderful view, ignoring the fact that you don’t really want to know where your dick is ending right now, as Nick engulfs your erection entirely. You rather focus on the pleasurable feeling of your tip pressing against his palate.

You can feel something wet your cock and, _is it coolant?, is it saliva?_ , God you don’t want to know.

Nick says he doesn’t feel the human equivalent of sexual pleasure, but he seems rather enthusiastic as he rhythmically bobs his head back and forth on your shaft.

“Hmm”, he grunts in satisfaction when he hears you call his name, when you scratch his hat and eventually decide on pulling it off to enjoy him the way he was built, bare as much as you are right now, holding the fingers over his skin and stroking his nape in caresses.

His brows raise in surprise, but he’s adamant in continuing his job so he sucks, holding his human hand around your hardened cock’s base and sinking in the length with each bobbing.

Shivers run over your skin and you can feel your arms hairs raising in pleasure, chills shaking your body. “Y-You feel so good, Nick”, each time his nostrils touch your pubes, you see the stars. Why he’s so damn good at this?, is it because he doesn’t have a gag reflex?

You bite your lower lip as his tongue linger on your glans. You can clearly feel him pressing it against the urethra as his palm massages your balls. He’s vigorously sucking and, fuck, he’s really putting you at test here with all these grunts, moans and hums out of contentment.

When he pops off, he’s drooling and spitting over your erection and doesn’t even miss a beat as he now holds your legs high and spread, sitting your calves on his shoulders and brushing his flat groin against your throbbing dick, probably ignoring the fact that you’ve received one of the best blowjobs of your entire life.

“You are doing good”, of- _fucking-_ course he has to praise you, stroking your dick just to prove his point, “I never imagined you had it that bad for me. I’m so flattered”.

“Nnngh... Nick, can I...”, you’re a bit ashamed but there’s nothing in this moment that you want more than him feeling good as well, reciprocate his loving care, “Show me, ah... Show me what I’ve gotta do to...”, he rubs against your cock once more, and you’re so damn longing for the friction against his body, “Let me make you feel good too, N-Nick”.

Nick kisses your forehead.

You’re the same height yet he has enough strength to take you down on the sleeping bag with him and revert your positions, now holding you on his lap. He still makes sure that the clamps are attached to his wires and now closes a fist around your dick, probably getting an eyeful of the view, _you, his beautiful partner, sitting on his chest_.

“Turn up the voltage, doll”, he sighs, admiring your body and the radiation burns on the chest, “There’s such a wonderful view down here”.

You give a quick look to the makeshift battery and obey.

Nick hums and prompts you closer. You obey, laying on the top of him, your bodies now matching as his free hand and wires drag over your loins. His human hand is still wrapping your erection and you can’t help but hump and thrust in his closed fist with each of his groans, peppering his exposed neck with kisses.

“Nick... ah...”, mouth agape, you hold his jaw, reclaiming his lips for all the times you heard his compliments and you silently chastised yourself over your feelings, for all the unlocked terminals and locks picked unavoidably followed by his words of praise.

You were silently suspecting that he wasn’t really putting off his detection software. Maybe he well knew what was going on in your head, and probably saw ever more than he let on. No wonder he knew those praises awfully got you going.

“Mmm, my sweet thing”, he laughs in the kiss you exchange and seems satisfied by the fact you’re awfully humping his hand. He strokes the fist around your tip and jacks you off, pulling the foreskin back and forth and pressing the thumb against your glans, fingers sticky with precum, “You like it?”.

You whine, thrusting and ramming in his closed fist, almost ashamed by the fierce and feral need for release that is now clouding your mind. All you can feel is pleasure, his mechanical hand around your back, brushing your shoulder blades and the scent of Gray Tortoise coming from his skin, from his opened shirt, as his stare gently loves you with each humming.

He’s indulging you– _you know it_. Putting off his needs for you.

You reach for the battery and raise the voltage.

This time, Nick growls, and you can tell it’s the same sound he made once, when he got electrified by a Tesla-arc. He throws his head backward and his body slowly arcs. Nonetheless, you keep thrusting in his hand, rapt by his gaze. You’re not sure if he’s aroused or pissed off. Maybe both.

“Ah– Aren’t you something”.

“Just the best for my favorite bot”, you wink at him, and give in to the temptation of reclaiming those lips once more. You slide out from his palm and rub against his crotch, as his body now wet with your sweat just sticks to yours, organic against synthetic.

You take a hold of his hands and you can taste the happiness as your fingers intertwine. His lips kiss your ear, snatching a shiver out of you as his tongue brushes your helix and sucks onto your earlobe.

Nick rubs his groin against yours and the friction is exquisite. You’re so damn close that all you can do is answer to his praises and sweet names in moans. There’s little you can do to resist his soft and warm voice, and you clearly feel Nick now shaking in your very arms as you increase the battery output once more.

His hand is crushing yours and yes, the metal fingers are hurting a little, but you want to hold on to him.

“I’ve got you”, you whisper to his ear, meeting his thrusting against your groin and searching with every push for desperate friction, yearning for release, “Nick, Nick...”.

Your mouth is full with his name and your eyes meet as your lips collide in a sloppy and wet kiss.

Nick holds on your hand as the other reaches around your shoulder, now giving rest to your clenched fingers. Why one last erratic thrust, you push against his crotch and completely succumb to your orgasm as you once again moan his name, in a raw grunt, throbbing against the pale skin as you can feel the warmness of your release now making the both of you sticky and definitely dirtier than you were before.

The battery dies out soon after and as the voltage goes back to zero, Nick is already with you. By his content look, irradiating happiness from his shining smile, he looks like he just got the best maintenance of his life.

He lays next to you, and detaching the jumper cables, he now strokes your hair with his iron fingers.

“How is feeling my former icicle?”, his peck on your sweaty forehead snatches a smile out of you.

You’re dazed and your head spins a little from the enthusiasm and tiredness. It’s been a long time since you last felt _this_ good.

“Divinely”, you snuggle close to his torso, resting your nose against the open neck, “Sorry for dirtying you. Should have known better to bring a sponge and some dirty water with me. Maybe if we find a river or a pond nearby, we could have a bath tomorrow?”.

“Uhm, can’t wait to check if my sealants are still in working order”, he winks, so lovingly determined to humor you, “You’re always building the world out of nothing. Why don’t we find a way to build a water pump or a small purifier and just fill a tub? Looks like a better idea than bathing in a radioactive pond lurking with mirelurks or God knows what else”.

You lazily drag your hand towards the military bag and give a quick check, just to make sure you have everything you need for the task.

“Let’s see. A typewriter, two tins and a bag of cement. Yeah, I guess that’ll be enough for a water pump”.

Nick widens his eyes: “I’m not lugging anything for ya until you get rid of _all_ those cement bags”.

“Hey, this stuff costs a fortune! Why do I have to pay for something I can find for free in an abandoned building? Come on”, you extract from the bag a bunch of glue sticks and duct tape, “It’s free real estate!”.

He rolls his eyes but you’re not expecting the malicious glare he gives you as he lifts from the bag a pair of handcuffs in good condition.

“What about these, wise man?”, the teases, grinning from ear to ear, “What were you saving these for?”.

You furiously blush but there’s no point in hiding the obvious.

“Garter-belts, tie, handcuffs”, Nick raises his brows and you’re awfully aware that the list it’s just gonna get longer, “Someone really had ulterior motives when he came to my rescue. Anything you want to confess _detective Valentine_ , wise guy?”.

You jolt. Oh, fuck.

He better not be pulling the roleplay card.

“Don’t give me that look! I really needed a detective!”, and you really want to save yourself from being kink-shamed, ‘cause you’re not feeling like telling him that you took those handcuffs from when you visited the last police district, hoping that one day you could put them at good use.

Nick lets the handcuffs hanging from his index finger.

“Obviously”, he sarcastically answers.

You zip up the bag: “You’re the one to talk! What about those jumper cables? I don’t remember picking them up, and I pick up lots of useless junk when I travel!”.

“Oh, indeed. You have a thing for antiques”.

“I wouldn’t be here with you, if it weren’t the case”

His hand is soothing your nape as you snuggle closer to him, covering the both of you with the worn trench coat. You’re not surprised when you feel him rummage in the pockets to smoke the so longed third cigarette.

You kiss his chin and snuggle closer.

“Synth Detective and his partner Former Icicle, right?”, you ask him giggling.

Nick laughs and holds you tighter.

“Hey, why don’t you rest a little, sweetheart? I’ll be here, looking over you and running a diagnostic or two”.

He snuffs out the cigarette with his fingers and slides it back in the package. Sharing your sleeping bag with him, you don’t care about the narrow space and rather enjoy the warm of his embrace. You don’t really want to break to him that without his fedora and with a pair of sunglasses, he’d look like Deacon’s carbon copy.

“I was thinking... maybe tomorrow we can hit Sanctuary Hills and, I don’t know, maybe have a romantic dinner? Just to celebrate... us?”.

Nick hugs you tighter: “You’re really 100% sure you want to stick with an old bot like me?”.

You smile.

“Dead serious. And don’t worry about stuff. Shaun already likes you. He’s always telling me he wants to become a detective when he grows up. A good one, like Mr. Valentine”.

“Hm, love the way you call my name”

You laugh it off: “Hey, Valentine”.

“Now you’re just being smug”

“What’cha gunna do about it”

He nips your upper lip: “Kiss you until you shut up, bucko”

You hum.

“Sounds like a great plan. I’d love to see you try”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like what I write, feel free to support me on [Ko–Fi](https://ko-fi.com/sv962)!


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